


Go East, Young Man

by idella



Category: Dragaera - Brust
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Characters, Femslash, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idella/pseuds/idella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sethra the Younger really, really wants to conquer the East.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go East, Young Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude/gifts).



> Written for Jude in the 2007 Yuletide Challenge. Thank you to aphrodite_mine for the beta, and to P. for the food.
> 
> This is set post-Issola, pre-Dzur in world where Iorich...did not yet exist. Contains spoilers for Issola.

"Princess Norathar," said the Empress of Dragaera, greeting her subject with a slight nod and an even slighter smile.

Norathar performed a courtesy and then studied its recipient to see if she had been speaking ironically. It was likely the Empress's idea of humor that prompted her to address her visitor by that particular of her many titles. Likely the Empress found a lot of irony in titles.

Technically, as Dragon Heir to the throne, Norathar was a princess, but she hadn't been one for all that long, and she often felt uneasy about being addressed as one, especially when she didn't know what it was supposed to mean.

Ever since Norathar had been forced to dissolve her assassin partnership with Cawti, she hadn't felt at all like the princesses in the Faerie tales Vlad Norathar was always badgering Cawti to tell him. Those princesses were always rescuing their lovers from certain death, or cleverly defeating their evil (or at least sadly misguided) enemies, or saving the Empire from utter ruin; often all in one story.

She was called a princess only now that she could no longer act like one. Having known she was Heir for only a short time, she hadn't been raised to fulfill the duties of one, and so she had been having a hard time reconciling her old life with her new one. Before, she'd had adventures. Now she was stuck waiting for the Cycle to change, all so she could become Empress and sit around some more while everyone else was out having adventures. It was enough to make her want to scream, but Dragons didn't scream. They fought duels and started wars instead, unless they were the Heir and had to behave themselves.

Just as Norathar had concluded that the Empress's choice of title had been innocent, Zerika said, "I'm sure you didn't come all the way to Adrilankha so you could be teased by your Empress. Come, let us walk." She motioned to her guard that she was leaving and he was to remain behind. She led Norathar to a passage just off the main throne room. The passage twisted and turned and seemed to go up and down slopes at random. Finally they stopped at an alcove where two chairs and a table had been set before a small window. No one else seemed to be around.

They sat, and Zerika waited expectantly. Their walk had been spent catching up since their last visit; mostly gossip (or what Zerika called Intelligence) about certain mutual acquaintances, but they had run out of conversation, and Norathar wasn't sure how to get where she wanted to be from here, conversationally speaking.

"You're looking well, Empress," she ventured.

"Yes. I'm lucky enough to have a large number of servants dedicated to keeping up appearances."

"But things are not always what they appear to be?"

"You could say that. I'm supposed to find a new Captain of the Guards again, for one thing," Zerika muttered. "But you didn't come here to discuss my problems."

"Problems? I see no problems. I see the Cycle," said Norathar dryly.

Zerika laughed. "Don't make promises you're not prepared to keep," she scolded.

They made nearly identical faces at the other, faces that ended with introspective smiles that were also nearly identical.

"Have I made an error in leading you here so we could talk?" asked Zerika after a moment.

"No." Norathar hesitated. "I am here because of the Countess of Szurke." She'd had to look up Cawti's title before she'd come. The Lyorn who'd helped her research it had been surprised that an Eastern woman had a title at all. Cawti was the only one who did, in fact, but Norathar bet if she'd asked her herself, Cawti either would not have known, or would have pretended not to know, what it was.

"Absolutely not," Zerika said flatly. "Whatever it is, the answer is 'no'. I had enough problems getting rid of her the last time she was our -- guest. Not to mention all the trouble she's caused me and everyone else, least of all that Eastern lover of hers."

Here Norathar glanced at her sharply, but the Empress's expression didn't betray anything or anyone. She merely looked annoyed. The Orb circled Zerika's head as it always did, but Norathar couldn't read Orb.

"I have enough problems. I don't need more problems," Zerika continued. "And you ought to be more careful, Dragon. It will not do for you to become involved in matters not befitting an Heir."

Zerika paused and considered her companion. "You must have known this would be my answer before you asked," she said, more gently.

Norathar nodded. "Empress... the Orb is so old; it has seen so much of history. I wondered--"

"Yes?"

"I wish to know something of which the Orb knows."

"Such as?"

"Are there others like--"

"Like what?"

Norathar was of the House of the Dragon, but even so she could not find the courage to say it. She said something else instead. "Like the Countess of Szurke and myself."

Zerika looked puzzled for a moment. Then her face cleared, and the Orb darkened dramatically. She nodded, once, then stood up abruptly and turned to go back the way they'd come. The Orb was circling her head very quickly now, Norathar saw.

"Come," Zerika said, without turning around. She was walking rapidly down the corridor, away from Norathar. "They will be wondering why I am so long in returning."

***

The hooded man watched the woman pacing back and forth in the small dark cell. She was dressed almost entirely in black (her coat had silver piping), and this, along with her dark hair and eyes, made her fair skin look very pale, though not so pale as that of the woman whom she styled herself after.

"We need to talk again of people whom we have talked of before," the man said.

The woman stopped pacing and raised her head. "Which people?" she asked.

"The Dagger of the Jhereg, for one."

The woman spat on the floor at the mention of either the Dagger, or the Jhereg, or both, or because she had an excess of moisture in her mouth. "I thought her name was--"

"Have you learned nothing of plots and conspiracies?" the man demanded. He supposed not, or else she would still hold an Imperial position. He didn't say this out loud; there was no point in upsetting his companion further. "We call her the Dagger."

"Oh." The woman thought about this. "You said 'people'."

"Also, her Once and Future Partner."

"The Sword. Two, then."

"Exactly."

"It is a shame," reflected the woman.

"A shame?"

"Yes, a shame. Hundreds of years worth of carefully laid plans to discredit The Sword as Heir, and now it turns out we will need her on the Throne after all."

"It is a good thing, then, that your plot to have her removed failed so miserably."

The woman growled.

"You are welcome to back out if you wish," said the man. His tone suggested he didn't think much of her chances of finding new occupations for her time if she did.

"No. I didn't promise merely not to interfere in the Dragon Council for nothing. I am still ambitious."

The man was silent.

Sethra the Younger smiled. "Think about what I did not promise, Yendi." Thinking back on the punishment her promise had been part of, she almost wished she had tried to kill her mentor instead of scheming against her. Especially since her scheme had failed anyhow, and her mentor was now undead, and thus couldn't be killed again. Theoretically. "So we must move quickly," she said. "I wish we had more time. Bah! I can but blink my eyes in six years."

Pel didn't say anything. His co-conspirator's plans might be young, but his were not. After a moment he said, "The Sword is even now risking everything by interfering with Jhereg matters. She must be stopped."

"And how do you presume to do that?"

"There are others who feel as we do, albeit for different reasons. Why not get them to do our work for us?

"Ah. You refer to the two hot-headed young Dragons."

"Yes. They are distracted now by their dangerous studies," and soon they may be distracted even further, for a time, he thought, "but if they knew what the Sword was up to, they would realize it was in their own best interests to dissuade her."

"And how are we to inform them of this? I do not think I will be welcome at Castle Black!"

"You forget that we have a god on our side."

"Just so. But then, why not--"

"Please. That would hardly be subtle."

"As you wish, as long as I get what I want in the end." The Dragon's hand went to the hilt of her Greatsword, almost without her noticing she was doing it.

"You will." And so will I, he thought, though it be a far different thing. "I will arrange to get our Friend to arrange for our... persuasion."

"Oh! Our colourful, yet magical friend!" Sethra the Younger was pleased to have thought up a code name.

Pel closed his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. Maybe that exile in the desert had addled her senses, or maybe it was too much time spent hanging around Dzur Mountain, but she would remind him of another friend of his, one much dearer to him than the Sorceress in Green, for all that they shared a House and he and Tazendra had not. He would have to learn to remind himself, when he was at his most melancholy, that at least Sethra the Younger could count. Perhaps that would help.

***

Morrolan sat up in bed. His lover stirred but did not wake as he reached for his Great Weapon. He caressed the hilt of Blackwand as he remembered his dream. I would be an excellent Warlord, wouldn't I? he thought. I'd forgotten that, lately. I must pay more attention to my destiny...

***

Aliera sat up in bed. Her lover stirred but did not wake as she reached for her Great Weapon. She caressed the hilt of Pathfinder as she remembered her dream. I would be an excellent Warlord, wouldn't I? she thought. I'd forgotten that, lately. I must pay more attention to my destiny...

***

"Morrolan?"

"Yes, Cousin?"

"I think you're boring Cawti,"

"Cawti?"

"Not, not at all, Lord Morrolan," she said politely. It wasn't even a lie; watching Morrolan and Aliera pick at each other might be irritating as hell, but it was rarely boring.

"Still, I don't think we need to hear anymore about your... swordsmanship, Cousin. I don't see what it has to do with anything we were discussing anyway." Aliera said. She smirked at Morrolan.

Morrolan glared at Aliera.

Lady Teldra moved in and refilled everyone's wineglasses.

Cawti and Norathar rolled their eyes at each other. They didn't have to be discreet; their friends were too absorbed in each other, and their own egos, to notice. They were being especially irritating tonight, but then they had always played best to an audience.

Morrolan started in on Aliera again. "Just because you have virtually no military experience--"

"I would have the 'military experience', as you so quaintly put it, of any three Dragonlords by now, had it not been for extenuating circumstances," Aliera said frostily.

"'Extenuating circumstances'? Ha! You were stuck inside a piece of wood! Or the Paths of the Dead, take your pick."

Aliera opened her mouth, but Morrolan cut her off before she could speak. "And as for 'what this has to do with anything', I merely point out that it would be extremely difficult for any inexperienced Dragon to be appointed Warlord." He sat back, looking smug.

Aliera's eyes narrowed. She wondered briefly why he was bringing up the position of Warlord when it had just again occurred to her to actively angle for it, but she was too absorbed in their argument to ponder this at any length. She launched a new line of attack. "I am Dragon Heir after Norathar; clearly I have the better claim to any Imperial position--"

"Oh, well, if you're going to bring genetics into it! Who would you rather have as Warlord? The son of a man who served the Empire as Warlord before the Interregnum? Or the daughter of a man who caused the Interregnum to occur in the first place, by blowing up half the Empire?" Morrolan pretended his questions were to the room at large, but all of his attention was focused on his cousin.

Aliera's eyes glittered. "Exactly!" she crowed.

"You know, even for a young Dragon, you're--"

Aliera was on her feet with her hand on the hilt of Pathfinder before Morrolan could finish his sentence. This was all it took for Morrolan not to bother finishing it. He was on his feet moments later, his hand on the hilt of Blackwand. They started circling the dining room table, not taking their eyes off one another.

"Do you dare to finish that sentence, Cousin?" Aliera demanded.

Norathar sighed.

Lady Teldra seemed to be watching the Great Weapons. She had an odd look on her face.

Cawti snapped.

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Both of you!" She stood up and pointed a finger at Norathar. "Does the Orb circle her head? Does she look like the Phoenix?"

Aliera and Morrolan stopped circling and looked at her.

"I don't think so, either," Cawti said. "And until she is Empress, she has no more say in who is appointed Warlord than I do! Personally, if I were her, deciding right now, I would pick someone just a bit more level-headed and mature. Vlad Norathar, perhaps," she said sarcastically. "And if I ever hear about either one of you hassling Norathar about this again, I personally will make sure that both of you are standing at the heart of something that will make Adron's Disaster look like... like a cracked crème brûlée," she said, catching sight of Lady Teldra with the dessert tray. "She has enough problems -- real problems, not stupid, childish communication problems -- without having to deal with you two arguing over her!"

Lady Teldra considered Cawti for a moment and then handed her a napkin. She took one of the crèmes brûlées off her tray and set it at Cawti's spot at the table. Cawti jabbed at her face with the napkin and sat back down. She broke the top of her crème brûlée with some force and started eating. After a minute she looked over at Norathar and smiled with her mouth. Norathar smiled back at Cawti with her eyes.

Aliera watched Cawti and Norathar watch each other.

Lady Teldra set out the rest of the desserts.

Morrolan and Aliera took their hands off their swords. The level of tension in the room dropped considerably. Morrolan made a show of offering Aliera a chair, Aliera made a show of accepting it, and they joined the others at the dining room table.

Morrolan cleared his throat. "So. Norathar. You have problems?"

Norathar smiled. "No problems that not being the Dragon Heir wouldn't solve," she said.

Morrolan nodded. "I used to have those problems. I solved them by finding another Dragon Heir."

Aliera glared at him. "So did, I as a matter of fact." She turned to Norathar. "Tell us about it."

***

Aliera took the cup of klava Norathar offered her and sat down. "I like your home," she said, looking around. "It's larger than I expected."

"Thank you," said Norathar. She sat down across from Aliera and set her own mug on the table. "All those Imperials I made in the Jhereg helped." She said this mainly to make Aliera look pained, and to snigger to herself about the irony. Shards, you're as bad as Morrolan, she thought.

"You need to stay away from South Adrilankha," was Aliera's retort. "As Dragon Heir, it behooves you to remember your position. As Dragons, we are not officially concerned with what the Jhereg may or may not be doing to the Easterners."

Norathar's eyes flashed. "What the Empire is doing to the Easterners, you mean. And I care.

"It won't work."

Norathar shrugged. "Probably not."

"I meant you and Cawti."

"It took you long enough to figure it out."

"How is she? Last night--"

"She's fine. She's been under a lot of stress lately. Does Morrolan know?"

Aliera snorted. "How long?" she asked.

"Since Vlad left. Vlad Norathar was an infant."

"Does--"

"Of course he knows."

"I didn't think you two kept in touch."

"Oh. I thought you meant Vlad Norathar."

"If he knows, I'm surprised it's not public knowledge."

"He's a child, Aliera. No one listens to children, especially Easterners' children," Norathar said bitterly.

"Still. It can't go on."

"The Empress--"

Aliera dismissed this with a sharp motion of her hand. "Unsubstantiated rumors. Besides, Zerika doesn't have to worry about a Phoenix Heir. Everyone else in the Empire has to worry about the future of the Phoenix, mind you, but she doesn't."

Norathar doubted this account of Zerika's opinion on the future of the Cycle was accurate, but it was beside the point right now. "So she can do whatever she wants, but I can't, is that it? Even though she's Empress right now and I may not be for centuries?" Even though Cawti will be dead by then anyway? she was going to say, but the words stuck in her throat and she couldn't get them out.

"We'll need a new Dragon Heir at some point."

"No. You need another Dragon Heir, Aliera, so much so that I'm convinced half the reason we spend any time together at all is so you can keep an eye on me. The House of the Dragon need another Heir, but as far as I'm concerned, the Dragons have gotten as much out of me as they're going to get. I'll be their damned Empress and that is all!" Norathar stopped to catch her breath.

"You're a Dragon, too," Aliera said hotly.

"I'm supposed to be grateful that you deign to admit it? You're an upstanding member of the House: why don't you have a child, Aliera? It can be Dragon Heir after me. But I guess you'd have almost as much trouble producing an Heir as I would, wouldn't you? Get out. Don't even bother with that stupid thing," she spit out; Aliera was reaching for Pathfinder, her black and silver skirts swirling around her as she stood up. She seemed to realize she'd gone too far and clenched her fists at her sides instead.

"Just leave," Norathar said tiredly.

"It will never work," was Aliera's parting shot.

"And your relationship will?" was Norathar's, but she couldn't take any pleasure in having said it.

***

Cawti could hear Norathar singing to Vlad Norathar as she approached her front door, a bag of groceries in her arms.

"...to impress? / I've been to Dragaera to visit the Empress / Little boy, little boy, what did--"

"How can you go to someplace you already are?" Cawti heard Vlad Norathar's clear little voice interrupt.

Cawti shut the front door quietly and stood just inside the house, listening. She loved Vlad Norathar and Norathar together; they were just so damned cute. Her tall Dragaeran and her little, little boy. Her dearest ones.

"Um... well, you know that the Empress Zerika lives in Adrilankha, right?"

Vlad Norathar must have nodded, because Cawti could hear Norathar's voice go on, "Not so long ago, a place called Drageara City was the capital, and if you wanted to see the Empress or the Emperor..."

"That's where you had to go!" Vlad piped up, pleased with himself for having figured it out. "But why can't you go there anymore?"

"It was, ah, destroyed."

"Did the whole thing blow up?" He sounded impressed.

Cawti set her groceries down on the table and moved towards the living area.

"How did that happen?" she heard Vlad ask. Was that awe in his voice? Damn.

"Because Aunt Aliera's daddy was a few shards short of the Orb, in more ways than one."

Cawti stuck her head around the door and gave Norathar a Look.

"Momma!" Vlad ran over and launched himself towards Cawti's legs. She scooped him up onto her hip and kissed him on the head. Norathar had followed Vlad over and Cawti titled her head up so she could kiss her. The kiss got longer and more interesting and Vlad squirmed to be let down.

Cawti set him on the floor and tweaked his nose. "Go and play for a bit before dinner, okay?" she said. "I need to talk to your mother for a minute."

Vlad ran off, making noises that sounded suspiciously like they could have been from an exploding city as he did so.

As soon as he was gone, Norathar took Cawti's face in her hands and they took up where they'd left off.

After some time, Cawti broke away. Her mouth was tender and she had to take a few deep breaths before she could speak. "Later," she promised. "We need to eat first; I'm starving." She turned and started unpacking the food. "And I really do need to talk to you."

Norathar leaned against the doorway and waited.

"So you went to Adrilankha today," Cawti finally said.

"I can't get anything by you, can I?"

Cawti grinned and turned around. "Nobody ever could, you know. Especially not with you there."

"I know it."

Cawti threw an onion at Norathar, and Norathar whipped out a knife and nailed the onion to the wall behind Cawti's head.

"I'm impressed."

"Heh. You say that like you're surprised."

"I am. It's not every day you can pull that off. You're definitely getting better with the knives."

Norathar shrugged, but Cawti could tell she was pleased.

"So, what did the two of you talk about?"

Norathar stopped smiling. "You."

"Oh, goody."

"Zerika thought so, too."

"I can imagine. Can you take that thing off the wall and chop it up for me? I'm going to need it for the sausage."

"Sure." Norathar grabbed a wooden board from the drawer by her knee. "I think we're on our own on this one."

"Norathar--"

"Yes?"

"I don't think I want to talk about this right now after all."

"You don't want my help," Norathar said flatly.

"It's just not a good idea for you to get involved. It's my problem; I'll sort it out."

"It's because I'm not undead, right?"

Cawti smiled in spite of herself. "Right," she said.

"Because if I were undead, all our problems would be solved! Because I could kill whomever needed killing!" said Norathar.

"Because you wouldn't be the Heir!" added Cawti.

"Because there are Imperial rules against the undead holding official Imperial positions!" they chorused. Both women collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Right," said Norathar, when she could speak again. "No more performances of Redwreath and Goldstar Have Traveled to Deathsgate for us, then.

Cawti didn't believe that for a moment. "You know, before I met you, I didn't know Dragaerans could be so..."

"Silly?" Norathar suggested.

"That was going to be my line, you know," said Cawti, grinning.

"Should've been a little quicker on the draw, then. And I wasn't silly before I met you."

"No? Well, I wasn't silly before I met you, either."

Cawti threw another onion at Norathar. It hit her on the shoulder. "The next step to becoming a really good knife thrower is carrying more than one knife, you know," she said.

***

"Is he asleep?"

Norathar nodded. "He finally had enough of Adron's disaster stories. For tonight, anyway. He reminds me of me, when I was younger."

"Heh. I just finished pouring the water; you'd better get in first."

Norathar slipped off her robe and climbed into the tub before she could get too cold. Cawti waited until she was settled and climbed in after her.

"What are you doing all the way over there?" Norathar grumbled.

"I like looking at your face."

"I like looking at the back of your neck, so? And it's warmer over here."

After a lot of spilled water and a lot more banging around, Norathar was sitting with her back to the fire and Cawti was leaning back in her arms.

"You know," reflected Cawti, "Baths aren't really as romantic as the books and plays make them out to be. All that fuss we just had getting comfortable, and for what? Three kisses on my leg and those on top of what I'm sure will be bruises come tomorrow!"

"They were very nice kisses, though. And look where we are now," countered Norathar.

"Mmmm..."

They sat in each other's arms for a few minutes, relaxing.

After a little while, Norathar spoke. "There was something else I asked the Empress today,"

"If my dungeon is still free?"

Norathar's hand had been making little swirls in the water; it stopped, and Cawti could feel her lover's body stiffen. "Sorry," she murmured.

"I asked her if there were any others like us. Humans and Easterners."

Cawti sat up so fast that the top of her head hit Norathar's chin. More water slopped out of the tub.

"Not romantic at all," she muttered as she twisted around to look at Norathar. "And?" she demanded.

"She intimated that the Orb says 'yes'."

"The Orb! What about her!?"

"I didn't dare."

"Some Dragon! I bet she is, though." Cawti settled back against Norathar. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It pleases me that there are others like us. I've been so... different, I suppose, all my life."

"You've always belonged with me," Cawti pointed out. "Even before we figured this out." She entwined the fingers on her left hand with those of Norathar's.

"I know. And I don't need anyone else to tell me this is right, either. I think I mostly asked her because I wanted to upset her. Her decision--" She was quiet for a moment. "It angered me," she said finally.

Cawti was silent.

"Of course, I'm disappointed, too," Norathar said matter-of-factly.

Cawti played along. "Disappointed?"

"Yes. I am quite certain," -- here she punctuated her last two words with kisses, one on each of Cawti's shoulders -- "that no one has ever loved anyone as much as we love each other. I resent anyone who dares infer that our love is 'common'."

"Yes, that's the tone you'll want to shoot for when you become Empress."

Norathar lifted Cawti's hair and kissed the back of her neck. Her mouth lingered where Cawti's neck and left shoulder met. Cawti moaned softly and arched her back closer to Norathar. Norathar's hands dropped from Cawti's hair to her waist. "Let's go to bed," she said. This water is getting too cold for my hot blood."

"Your blood? What am I, chopped kethna?"

"Cawti. Dear. Let's put your smart mouth to good use. Come with me. We both need to relax."

Cawti let Norathar lead her out of the tub. They both splashed water all the way to the bedroom, where it didn't matter anymore.

***

"Morrolan?"

He opened his eyes.

"Norathar. Come in, sit down. I'll have--" He broke off. "Please, sit."

Norathar sat. They were in Morrolan's library at Castle Black.

"You wanted to see me?" Norathar said pointedly.

"Yes. Vlad Taltos, Cawti's husband, is back from--well, wherever he's been. It doesn't matter. He's back, and he will no doubt be handling the, ah, situation in South Adrilankha."

"Does he know this?" Norathar said sarcastically.

"He's smart enough when he wants to be; he'll figure it out." Morrolan fingered the stem of the empty wineglass he was holding. "We would... appreciate it if you would remove yourself from the situation as soon as possible. You'll be seeing Cawti?"

"Yes."

"Let her know. Aliera will put her in touch with Vlad."

"Cawti won't like it."

Morrolan didn't have anything to say to that. They sat in silence. Morrolan seemed to be in a particularly foul mood. Norathar went to pick up her wineglass and realized she didn't have one. She wondered idly where Lady Teldra was. She cleared her throat. Morrolan seemed to notice her again. "You're still here," he said.

"Well, I think it's a bit much for everyone to expect me to just--"

"I don't see a problem. Nobody, including Cawti, wants you involved. Vlad will have the resources, the back-up, and the motivation. He'd do anything for her. He knows the area. It was his problem in the first place; I don't know what he was thinking when he dropped it on her before he left. He owes her one. He owes me one, too," he muttered.

"Fine. It sounds like a great plan. I'd love to see how it all works out." Norathar stood up. "I'll be going now. Please convey my regards to Lady Teldra when you see her."

Morrolan glared at her, but unlike most of his glares, it seemed to have real feeling behind it. It made her uneasy, and she wasted no time in leaving.

As Norathar walked out of the library, she heard something shatter on the wall behind her. It sounded like it could have been the wineglass Morrolan had been playing with. She shook her head. Dragons. She thought of Cawti, and the onions, and smiled to herself.

***

"There are a lot of books here," said Sethra the Younger.

"Yes," replied Pel. "And yet it is a good place to meet. It is convenient, for one, and it is almost as well lit as the dungeons, for another."

"You aren't afraid we'll be recognized?"

Pel made a show of looking around. "You see there are no patrons in this section of the library."

"What about those who work here?"

Pel smiled.

Sethra the Younger shrugged. "At any rate, it is done. The Sword is staying out of it, and so I am that much closer to getting what I desire, and perhaps you are, too."

"You pretend that our desires are not aligned?"

Sethra the Younger laughed. "You are a Yendi. Do not mock me."

"Very well. Why don't you tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if it's the same thing I want."

"Here?"

"Why not?" Pel looked around. "It seems to me to be the perfect place."

"Fine. The Sword is but the lip of the Falls. It is those she is bringing with her who interest me the most."

"He will never succeed," Pel said mildly.

"He won't have to. There are other considerations. His mother, for one. His father, for another. Not to mention--. But I will deal with that in good time. The child merely needs to be... prominent. Him, and one other."

"One other what?" Pel said innocently.

"Child." said Sethra the Younger, equally innocently.

"After all the trouble you took to get that thing?"

Sethra the Younger's hand rested on the hilt of the weapon hanging at her hip. "Kieron's Greatsword cannot but help me in my ambition to conquer the East. It is a great symbol, after all. Everything else is just... subtlety."

Pel said nothing about Sethra the Younger's word choice, preferring to devote his energy to controlling his features. His companion was so caught up in delight at her own cleverness that she forgot to ask him about his plans. She often tired him, but there were few who did not, and he would have need of her to achieve his own ambitions....

***

"I'll consider Morrolan's proposal, I guess. I'll want to talk to you-know-who first." Cawti glanced at Vlad Norathar, who was snuggled in between her and Norathar in the really big chair. There was no reason for him to have picked up on their talk about his father, but she wanted to make sure. He was leafing through a book and babbling quietly to himself. Cawti sipped her klava thoughtfully. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the irony, anyway." She leaned over and pulled Norathar to her. Their foreheads met over Vlad's head. "You know you have nothing to worry about, right?" she whispered. Norathar looked righteous, but Cawti saw through it. "Fool," she said, "I love you."

"I love you, too." Norathar pulled away and went back to reading her playbill. "This looks good. There's a new production by Howaard of someplace called Holywood... another Hawklord. Paarfi doesn't like him, apparently; he's panning the play but it's probably just jealousy... he quotes from it, though... Oh, oh! Listen to this: 'We had to have a plot, but it was just an excuse for some scenes'. That sounds like something we'd like, doesn't it?" She broke off when she saw the expression on Cawti's face. "What?"

"What do you think about this plan?"

"Part of me thinks he deserves it. And what Zerika said to me, about being about to do more for Easterners on the throne than off it; that too."

Vlad Norathar looked up. "Easterners live in the East, right?" he said.

"Yep. Most of them, anyway. Why?"

"Because I'm going to go there someday," he said firmly. And then, more hesitantly, when nobody said anything, "Well, we've been where Mother's from, right? Because we already live here and everything. So someday we should go where you're from, too, right, Momma?"

Cawti looked at Norathar. Norathar looked at Cawti. "Maybe someday," Cawti said.

END


End file.
